


Claw at your Heart

by sarahcakes613



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Hatesex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Snark, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22551778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613
Summary: Peter and Isaac both want Chris, but Chris is tragically straight and also oblivious. They decide the best course of action is to work out their lust in mutually beneficial hatesex, but somewhere along the way it stops being about Chris.Derek would very much like to be left out of the narrative.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Isaac Lahey
Comments: 12
Kudos: 72
Collections: The Leonard Cohen Files





	Claw at your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> One day I will have a smutty fic idea that was NOT inspired by porn. Today is apparently not that day. This happened because I saw something with two actors who looked the slightest bit like Peter and Isaac, and I was trying to think about situations that might draw them together.

_And if you want another kind of love/I'll wear a mask for you…_

_Or I'd crawl to you baby and I'd fall at your feet, __And I'd howl at your beauty like a dog in heat - _I'm Your Man, Leonard Cohen

It starts because Peter sees everything. Stiles makes jokes about Peter lurking, but the real reason he sits on the stairs during pack meetings is because it lets him see everyone at once. Not that he pays attention to most of the puppies, his attention is usually focused on Argent. Tonight he sees that he’s not the only one watching the hunter, and he taps his fingers idly on the bannister, wondering if Isaac has always stared at Argent with such blatant hunger and he’s just never noticed, or if this is something new.

It could just be grateful adulation, Isaac has many reasons to be thankful to Argent, but there’s a shadow in that hooded gaze that Peter recognizes, because it mirrors his own. Peter is a man of simple wants, and what he wants, simply, is to put Argent on his knees and keep him there, wants Argent to wear his scent so that everyone knows the big bad hunter is actually a beta’s bitch. It’s a dream, a fantasy that Peter revisits often in his bedroom. Argent is straight, and oblivious, and Peter could probably work around one of those facts, but the other makes his efforts futile.

The way Isaac watches Argent, though. Peter runs his gaze critically across Isaac’s features, taking in not just the look in his eyes, but the way he chews at his lip, the barely-there tilt of his body towards the older man. Isaac has no interest in putting Argent in his place, no, Isaac wants the opposite. Now that Peter’s looking for it, the signs are obvious. Isaac wants to be the one on his knees.

The boy is good at hiding his scent, no one seems to be picking up on the desire radiating off of him. As the meeting draws to a close, Peter saunters down into the room.

“Lahey.”

Blue meets blue, Isaac’s open, guileless eyes look up from beneath long lashes to meet Peter’s insouciant gaze.

“I think I put too much ‘bane in my beer,” he twirls his keyring around his finger.

“Really shouldn’t get behind the wheel in my condition, why don’t you drive me home?”

He’s lying, and Isaac knows it, but he catches the keys when Peter tosses them, and shrugs in response.

“Yeah, okay.”

Most everyone else has already left, so it is only Derek who watches them go with a furrowed look of concern lining his brow.

Peter continues to watch Isaac as he drives.

“So, is it a misplaced daddy thing?”

Peter’s question throws Isaac off-guard, and he looks sideways at him, confusion writ large across his face, his eyes wide.

“What??”

“The repressed feelings you have for Chris Argent. Is it a daddy thing? I suppose I could see it, he does disapproving-glare so well.”

Peter smirks, and Isaac throws him a disgusted look.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He almost sounds like he means it, but Isaac’s hands clutch at the steering wheel like it is holding him upright, and his heart stutters over his words, and anyhow, Peter can smell the desperation coming off him now.

“You want him, I can tell. I can practically smell your need for daddy’s love –“

“It’s not a daddy thing.” Isaac cuts him off. He stares straight ahead, eyes on the road.

“No? Then what is it?”

Peter is genuinely curious. He knows why he wants Chris, because he is hardwired for acts of revenge, and it would give him the greatest satisfaction to see the last Argent submitting to a Hale, to have those cold blue eyes glaring at him, unable to speak because Peter’s cock is shoved halfway down his throat.

Isaac doesn’t respond right away, and when he does speak, it comes out in a near whisper.

“He was good to me. He didn’t have to be, but he was, because he’s a good man. It’s not hard to fall in love with someone when they’re good to you. Especially if it’s a novel experience.”

That is just about the most depressing thing Peter has ever heard, and he lived with Derek for years, which says something.

“You smell like arousal just talking about him, and it’s because he was _good_ to you? Do you have any idea how desperate that sounds? Not to mention how pointless, our hunter is no more going to look at you the way you want than he is to look at me that way.” Peter sneers.

Isaac’s nostrils flare as he inhales deeply.

“That explains why I’m not the only one who smells like stale arousal.” He comments. “You want him too.”

“Mmm,” Peter agrees, “but I think you and I want him in very different manners.”

Isaac pulls into the lot behind Peter’s building, parks the car. Neither of them moves.

“What do you want?” Isaac asks.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Peter quips. He’s being facetious, but he’s also curious just how in-depth Isaac’s fantasies might be. He could use some new material for his own.

Isaac turns in his seat, facing Peter.

“Deal.”

Peter tries not to look surprised. There is an unexpected amount of steel hiding under that velvet soft little-boy-lost face.

“Well. I could tell you, could describe for you in words how I want to bring the great hunter down to my level, want to fuck him with my fingers, my cock, til he’s crying for release. Or…” he trails off, and Isaac shifts slightly.

“Or?” Isaac’s voice is breathy, high pitched.

“Or I could show you.”

Isaac tenses and then releases, his whole body unlocking as he makes his decision.

“Okay.”

Peter is surprised at how quickly Isaac agrees. He’d honestly been expecting to have to push a little, to be at least nominally rejected.

“Okay?”

Isaac shrugs.

“Yeah, okay. It’s just sex, right? We’re both going to be imagining someone else, may as well make it mutually beneficial. Just don’t-“ He cuts himself off, one hand rising to rest against his throat.

Peter shakes his head.

“I enjoy the thought of humiliating him, not hurting him. I want him to go out of his mind with how ashamed he is when he comes with my cock down his throat, not with my hands wrapped around it.”

Isaac’s cheeks are two points of heated pink in the dim light, and his voice is soft.

“I just want to make him happy.”

Peter is only mostly successful at stifling the urge to roll his eyes.

He leads Isaac through the side door and to the bank of elevators. Isaac arches a brow when he pulls out a key that unlocks the penthouse button, but doesn’t comment.

His apartment is just where he sleeps, for the most part, so there is not much for Isaac to see when he looks around curiously. Peter’s not interested in giving him a tour of anything other than his bedroom, so he nudges Isaac and pads down the hallway, the younger wolf trailing behind him.

His bedroom is his den, done up in forest greens and walnut browns. There is a chair in one corner where he occasionally likes to sit and read.

Peter turns to consider Isaac. The boy is taller than him, than Chris, but he can work with that. He lays a hand on the back of Isaac’s neck and pushes him down. He goes down to his knees gracefully, looks up at Peter with those bright blue eyes.

Peter settles into the chair, legs spread wide. He flicks open his jeans, pulls his cock out. It’s already hard, it’s been hard since they left the loft, and it pulses heavy in his hand.

“Come here.” He instructs, and he thrills at the way Isaac obeys instantly, moving over to him, still on his knees. He stops, sprawled in front of Peter, and waits for his next instruction.

“Can you see him here, waiting? What do you think his cock looks like?” Peter muses, his hand slowly stroking up and down his shaft. He doesn’t wait for an answer, continuing to imagine it himself, superimposing the hunter’s icy blue eyes in place of the boy’s bright ones, the way his eyes would flicker back and forth between Peter’s face and his still-moving hand.

“I’ve always thought he had a bit of that, what do you kids call it? Big dick energy. His wife certainly always looked like a cat satisfied with her cream.” He looks down at Isaac.

“Open your mouth.”

Isaac mumbles something, leaning forward with his mouth open. Peter stops him with a hand wound tightly in his dark curls.

“What did you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did I say you could speak?”

Isaac flushes, his scent souring slightly. He wants so badly to be good, it’s almost too easy to make him think he isn’t.

“No, sir.”

Peter’s grip on his hair loosens.

“You’re right, of course. About calling him sir. I think he’d like that a great deal. He’d sit here, cock out, boots still on. Do you feel his hand in your hair? How it would guide you so gently?”

Peter tugs lightly, using the younger beta’s thick hair to steer him down. Isaac’s mouth is slack, open, and when he is close enough, his tongue darts out. He laps at the head of Peter’s cock, drawing it into his mouth, sucking at the tip before tilting forward to take more of it in, reaching halfway down before pulling back, retching.

“Easy, pup, easy.” Peter croons, running his hands through Isaac’s hair. Isaac leans into it, humming around Peter’s cock. His eyes are closed, and Peter knows it’s because he doesn’t want to see who it is he’s really pleasuring, but he doesn’t care all that much. He’s getting his just as much regardless of if Isaac’s mind is elsewhere.

“You like that, pup?” He asks, tugging again at the dark curls. “Can you feel his hands, those long fingers, the rough calluses running over your skin, catching in your hair?”

He runs his own smooth hand down the back of Isaac’s head to cup his neck. Peter thrusts his hips slowly, pushing Isaac’s head down at the same time. Isaac falters again, but doesn’t gag, and Peter starts thrusting harder and faster, until the room is filled with the spit-slick sounds of the Isaac’s throat swallowing around the older were’s cock.

Tears are forming in the corners of the boy’s closed eyes, but there is no pain in his scent, so Peter doesn’t let up, staring fixedly at the red lips stretched so obscenely around his shaft. They are fuller than Argents’, but Peter doesn’t see that, he sees thin lips framed with stubble, and he is overwhelmed with the desire to pull out and finish on his face, to spray that haughty hunter’s sneer with his release.

He pulls Isaac off him, wrapping a hand around himself. Isaac’s mouth is still open, soft and pliant, and he aims for it as his hand speeds up, stripping his cock until he comes with a roar, his spend dripping down the boy’s face, into his mouth. Peter draws two fingers through the thick liquid, gathering some up and feeding it to the boy. Isaac laps at it, tongue flicking over and around his fingers, sucking it down.

Peter nudges at Isaac’s still-clothed crotch with his foot, and Isaac gasps around his fingers. He’s hard, pressing himself down against Peter’s foot, rocking back and forth. Peter would like to stay just like this, making the boy get himself off, making him come in his skinny jeans, but that’s not what Argent would do. Argent would be sweet, would probably spread him out and worship his body slowly until he comes undone. Peter is not sweet.

He stands abruptly, and Isaac falls back on his heels, a whine briefly slipping out through his lips. Peter pulls him up and pushes him backwards to lie down on the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, Peter climbs on top of the younger man, straddling him, grinding down so Isaac’s trapped erection is forced against his ass. Isaac whines again, hips trying to thrust but unable to under Peter’s weight.

“Can you feel him, pup? That tight ass riding your cock? He’d feel so good, he’s probably never been fucked, too uptight to let that wife of his even slide a finger in.”

Peter reaches down to unzip Isaac’s jeans, yanks the waistband of his briefs down just enough that his cock pops out, slapping against his stomach. It’s flushed dark red root to crown and long, but not thick, and Peter isn’t much for bottoming but Isaac’s cock is built for riding and his ass clenches as he thinks about it.

It’s wet at the tip, pre-come dribbling out, and when Peter finally wraps a hand around it, he barely needs to spit on it for lubrication. His grip is tight, and Isaac’s broken whines turn into a gasp as his hand starts to move, his other hand reaching further down to roll Isaac’s balls, and they are already drawn high and full, and he can tell it won’t take long for Isaac to break.

Isaac’s face is flushed, sweat beading his forehead, and he’s mumbling again. Peter leans down, tilting his ear to Isaac’s mouth.

“I can’t hear you, pup. Do you have something to say?”

“Fuck, Peter, I need to come.” He grits out, head arched so he can watch his cock sliding through the clutch of Peter’s fist.

Peter tsks, shaking his head.

“Try again, puppy.”

His grip tightens, his rhythm speeding up.

“Sir, please, please sir, I need to come.”

“That’s better, good boy, pup, you’re so good.”

He lowers the pitch of his voice, trying to mimic the hunter’s low timbre, and it must work well enough, because it’s only a handful more strokes before Isaac is coming, his body shaking as come streaks up his t-shirt.

Isaac’s head flops down, his breath heaving in as he comes down from the rush of climax. Peter moves off of him, no more winded than if he’d been taking a stroll through the park. He rummages through his dresser, throws a shirt to Isaac before taking off his own and throwing it into the hamper. Isaac picks up the offered clothing with two fingers, looking to Peter with a question in his eyes.

“Unless you want to return to Derek covered in our combined scent?” Peter gestures to the white streaks spotted over Isaac’s shirt.

“He’ll know either way, if I come home wearing a different shirt.”

Peter shrugs. “If this is something you wanted to hide from Derek, you chose the wrong partner. Family can always scent family. No reason you need to flaunt it, though. Or do you _want_ to walk home covered in my come?” He looks over curiously.

Isaac’s face is curled into a grimace, and Peter laughs.

“There you go, then.”

Isaac changes quickly, hunched in on himself, but Peter’s eyes are drawn to the brief display of marble-cut skin, the faded scars on his back that even becoming a were couldn’t fix. Argent has no idea what he’s missing, and it’s a delicious thrill to have something that Argent doesn’t even know could be his.

* * *

A week passes, life going on as it always does. Peter meets with clients, buying and selling artifacts and information that may be of use to the pack. He gets a text message from Derek at some point, a terse “he’s an adult and I’m not getting involved, but if you hurt him, you have to know no one will choose your side.” It’s a reminder that he exists in this town by the grace of Derek’s loyalty and Scott’s charity, and it chafes, but he has no intention of hurting Isaac, not in any significant emotional way, at any rate. It’s just a convenient scratching of each other’s itches, and it may not even happen again. He’d like it to, sure, but he’s not holding his breath.

The next pack meeting is at the Stilinski house, so Peter is forced into proximity with the others, no staircase for him to brood from. Argent is there, of course, and so is Scott’s mother, and Peter greets her with a silky smile. She blushes faintly, the vaguest scent of embarrassment wafting off of her, and Peter gives a brief moment over to thinking of what could have been. She’d have made an excellent mate, if he’d turned her, the two of them and Scott as a cozy little family unit.

Scott rumbles a warning at Peter, who falls back, hands up. He retreats to a far corner and watches the interactions between Scott and Melissa, Melissa and Argent. There’s something there, a familiarity that sets Peter’s teeth on edge. They dance around each other like people who know the way the other’s body moves, anticipating and reacting to each other’s actions. They’re fucking, or maybe even dating, and now that he knows what to look for, he can pick it out. The faint gardenia scent that sometimes lingers on Argent’s clothes isn’t his laundry detergent, it’s Melissa’s perfume.

Peter sees Isaac on the other side of the room, and he is also watching them. He doesn’t look surprised, just sad, and he spends a lot of time with Scott so he must have already known about it, and how that must sting.

Peter leans back against the wall, he’s hard now, thinking about fucking Melissa while Argent watches helplessly, and then fucking the hunter, his dick still wet from being inside her. Peter wonders if Argent knows that he had Melissa first.

“Dude, seriously?” Derek hisses at him.

Peter grins.

“Excuse me nephew, I don’t think my services are required here this evening. I’ll be on my way.”

“Good, you can take that disgusting smell with you.” Derek mutters.

Peter doesn’t bother saying goodbye to anyone, but he brushes against Isaac as he leaves, his jacket a whisper against the boy’s arm.

His doorbell rings a few hours later, when he’s half a bottle of wine into an Antiques Roadshow marathon. He doesn’t bother seeing who it is, just buzzes them up. The elevator opens directly into his foyer, and when Isaac steps out of the elevator, he is waiting there.

“Do you know Chris actually asked Scott and I both if we were okay with him dating Melissa? As if we – especially me – had any say? How fucked up is it that he’s dating Scott’s mom, who may as well be my foster mom, after we both dated his daughter? And he has to go and be _nice_ about it?”

Isaac’s rant runs out of steam pretty quickly, and Peter doesn’t really care about how nice Chris is, but he enjoys the fact that in the face of that thoughtfulness, Isaac has come to him, like he needs something tangibly careless and irresponsible to make up for it.

He turns to walk to the bedroom, expecting Isaac to fall in line behind him. The boy isn’t here to watch television, and Peter isn’t interested in talking about what he missed at the gathering.

“Wait.”

He turns back, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

Isaac shifts his weight back and forth.

“If this – if we keep doing this – should I have like, a safe word or something?”

“Are we planning to do something that might require a safe word?”

He’s genuinely curious. He’s adaptable, but he’d like to know in advance if Isaac wants something rougher than being fucked within an inch of his life.

Isaac shrugs.

“I don’t know, it just seems like a good idea.”

Peter shakes his head.

“I’m a lot of bad things, pup, but I’m not interested in power dynamics beyond what is built into our nature. I don’t need to hear a special word. If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. If you can’t speak, I’ll smell it. Is that safe enough for you?”

Isaac shrugs again.

“I guess so. I’m surprised though, I kind of thought you’d be all into that Fifty Shades stuff.”

Peter smirks.

“I’m a former Alpha werewolf and I have the kind of face that makes girls on the street want to call me daddy. I don’t need to bring in extra kinky fuckery to get off.”

Isaac laughs at that, but drops the matter. He follows Peter into the bedroom, and immediately climbs onto the bed, kneeling in front of the older man.

“What do you want, pup?” Peter asks him, caressing a hand down his cheek, thumb brushing against his lips.

“I want you to fuck me til I can’t take it anymore. Sir.” He adds it as an afterthought, but it sounds so good falling from his mouth.

Peter can work with this, he’s spent many nights imagining what it might be like to have the hunter on his hands and knees in front of him, and they usually end with Argent begging for release. He doesn’t think it will be very hard to get Isaac to beg. Of course, Argent would probably put Isaac’s needs first, make sure the boy gets off before he lets himself chase his own pleasure. Well, Peter’s got the stamina for it, at least.

“Clothes off, then get on your hands and knees.” He orders, padding over to the nightstand to get out a bottle of lube. When he looks back, Isaac is kicking his pants off to the side, his shirt on the floor.

“This isn’t a frat house, fold your clothes.”

Isaac rolls his eyes but obeys, folding them messily and putting them on the chair. He’s just in his briefs now, and they’re pulled tight across a growing bulge in the front. He is all sculpted torso, a long line of pale skin and muscle. He bends over, the fabric is clinging to his ass, firm and taut, and from this angle Peter can imagine he’s looking at Argent’s ass, his narrow hips.

The younger beta kneels there, waiting tensely. Peter hooks a finger into the waistband of his briefs, tugging them down to just below the swell of his ass. The skin is pale but flushed pink, the lightest dusting of hair trailing up his thighs. He thinks about tasting it, about nuzzling down into the crook of the boy’s thigh where his scent is strongest, but he’s got more pressing concerns making themselves known against his zipper.

“Hold yourself open.” He reaches for the lube and flicks off the cap. Isaac reaches back, his balance falling onto his shoulders, his head turned to one side.

Peter unbuttons his shirt and peels it off, leaving his undershirt on. He doesn’t bother removing his slacks, just shoves them halfway down his thighs. He appreciates the contrast of the nearly naked younger man against his mostly clothed self.

He squeezes the bottle, watching the viscous liquid drip out onto his hand. If this were actually Argent in front of him, he probably wouldn’t bother with much prep, he wants to see the other man squirm too much. As it is, he is quick but efficient, working one and then two fingers into Isaac, scissoring them to open him up more. Isaac’s breathing speeds up, quiet gasps spilling from his lips as he begins to push back against Peter’s fingers.

When he starts to rock back with more emphasis, Peter pulls his fingers out, wiping them on his shirt. He tugs Isaac’s briefs down a little more to give himself space to move between the boy’s long legs, and drips more lube out of the bottle and onto his cock. He grips himself with one hand, the other curling around the boy’s hip to keep him in position, and he pushes forward, watching intently as the tip of his cock splits the boy down the middle, his ass giving way to the thick shaft. He stops, just barely inside, the heat gripping him so tightly that for a moment it is a band around his chest.

He breathes through his nose, a one-two-three count before exhaling and pushing forward again, not stopping until the open fly of his pants is pressing zippered teeth into the flesh of Isaac’s thighs. Isaac wriggles a bit, and Peter’s hand grips his hip tighter.

“Behave, pup.”

“What are you waiting for, fuck me!” Isaac pants.

“So rude, I don’t think _Christopher_ would appreciate that.” Peter says, but he pulls back and thrusts in hard, his balls slapping against Isaac’s ass.

Isaac snarls at that, thrusting his own hips back, rutting against the older wolf.

“Chris would fuck me like he means it, he’d use that big cock of his and he’d make me feel it, so _fucking fuck me._”

Peter snarls back but speeds up his pace, snapping his hips, both hands gripping Isaac tightly. He puts one hand between his shoulderblades, pinning him in place, and the shift in angle pushes him in deeper. They both groan at that, and as Peter thrusts, the new angle lets him nail Isaac’s prostate head-on and the boy is suddenly clenching around him, breath coming in pants now as he shoves himself back against the older man.

Peter licks the palm of his hand and reaches down to wrap it around Isaac’s cock, but Isaac bucks him off, shaking his head.

“What, you don’t think Chris would want to give you a hand?”

Peter doesn’t really care, but it’s what he would do, reaching down, reminding the hunter who is responsible for the pleasure coursing through him. His cock in Chris’s ass, his hand on Chris’s dick, the other man pinned between.

“Chris wouldn’t need to,” Isaac taunts. “He’d make me come on his cock.”

Peter growls at that and pulls Isaac up into a near-seated position on Peter’s lap. Gravity forces the boy down hard on his cock and Isaac cries out as Peter’s hips keep thrusting, cock battering at the boy’s prostate. His hands reach back to claw helplessly at Peter’s thighs and it’s only a few short minutes before Isaac’s entire body seizes and he howls, his cock spurting thick jets of come across the bed.

He is unable to collapse, held in place by Peter’s hands, but he falls limp, head lolling back on Peter’s shoulder as the older man continues to hammer into his now pliant body. It is just beginning to be too much, Isaac’s moans turning to whimpers, when Peter gives one last thrust and holds himself there, his cock pulsing streams of come deep into Isaac’s ass.

When he pulls out, he groans at the sight of thick white fluid spilling out of Isaac’s hole. He leans down, sealing his mouth over the boy’s rim, his tongue dipping in to lick the taste of himself out of the younger beta. Isaac gasps, his hole twitching in Peter’s mouth.

He doesn’t stop until he’s licked the boy clean, and by the time he’s done, Isaac is hard again, his cock pressed against the mattress, desperate for friction. He slaps a hand across the boy’s ass as he gets out of bed.

“You can take care of that one on your own time, pup, it’s late and some of us have early hours.”

He doesn’t actually have anywhere to be in the morning, but it is late, and he doesn’t want the other wolf to get ideas about cuddling, or spending the night, or any kind of domesticity. He goes into the bathroom to run himself a shower, and by the time he climbs out, Isaac’s gone.

Peter’s nose twitches as he gets into bed, the sheets stained with Isaac’s come and stinking of them both. He thinks about changing them, but it’s not the most unpleasant smell, and besides, it amuses him greatly to think of the confused expression on Scott’s face as he tries to figure out why Peter smells so intimately of Isaac.

* * *

They don’t fuck after every pack meeting, half the time they barely even acknowledge the other’s presence. Derek and Malia seem to be the only ones who have actually picked up on their arrangement. He doesn’t know if Isaac’s told the alpha something or if Scott’s just following his nose to the logical conclusion, but Scott’s confused face has also started clearing, though Peter does not entirely trust the young alpha to reach the accurate conclusion. That being said, he also doesn’t care enough about Scott’s opinion to correct it.

He never gives Isaac his phone number, but the boy gets it somehow, which Peter only knows because his phone blows up while he’s out for lunch with a client. He excuses himself before opening it and it’s a good thing because the series of progressively filthier photographs send a throb of lust straight to his core and he winds up jerking off furiously in a bathroom stall before returning to his client with apologies.

He only sends one photo back in response, the hem of his shirt held between his teeth, fresh come splattered across his stomach.

Peter stops by the grocery store on his way home to pick up a few essentials and as he’s walking through the produce his nose tickles at the smell of gardenias. He looks up to see Chris standing in front of a display of oranges, weighing each carefully in his hand. From the strength of the scent, the hunter’s probably just come from the McCall house, and given the time of day, Peter can hazard a guess that he wasn’t there on business. He decides to bypass the remainder of his list, paying for the items in his cart and tossing them haphazardly in the backseat of his car. He could use a moment of afternoon delight himself, and he drives to the far end of the parking lot, behind the loading dock.

He unbuckles his belt one-handed, tapping at his phone with the other. He puts it on speaker and sets it on his dashboard, then pushes his seat back as far as it will go.

“’lo?”

“I just ran into our favourite hunter at the grocery store.” Peter says, pushing his jeans down, his thighs spread wide. “It was all I could do not to mount him right there in front of the fucking pineapples.”

He spits into his hand, spreading it down his shaft and beginning to stroke. The sounds of traffic outside are muted but still audible.

“Are you still there?”

“I’m in my car.” He grunts, tightening his grip on himself. “And Argent is inside buying fucking produce instead of between my knees where he belongs. Straight smug bastard.”

He hears footsteps and then a click, Isaac shutting a door behind him.

“Tell me, Peter. Tell me what you would do if he walked out that door right now and saw you. Would you get out, bend him over the hood of your car? Or just let him watch you? I love thinking about him watching, wanting to step in.”

“I’d let him watch,” Peter agrees. He can picture it now, the other man strolling out through the automatic doors, catching sight of movement in the corner of his eye, those trained instincts kicking in. He pictures the flash of disgust as Argent would realise what he’s doing, morphing slowly into uncomfortable arousal. The hunter would stalk towards him, the scent of his want mixed with shame, thick in the air around him.

“He would try to tell you off,” Isaac prompts, and Peter nods.

“He would probably say something about morals, and decent human beings.” He groans, his cock throbbing in his hand. He spits directly on it, and hears Isaac moaning through the phone. There are quiet creaks, Isaac shifting on his bed.

“But it would be meaningless,” he continues, “because he’d be unable to hide how hard he is. Even with my nose plugged, I could smell his desperation a mile away.”

“Would you give it to him?” Isaac gasps, and Peter hears a slick slapping sound and he groans again, speeding his pace up to match the younger wolf.

“I’d tease him first.” He would, he would sit here, cock out, shirt pulled up, and let Argent stand helplessly, watching through the window.

“By the time I get out of the car, he’d be aching for it. He’d beg me to do something, anything, just so long as I touch him.”

“Fuck yeah, Peter, touch him. Show him how good it can be.”

“Yeah, pup, yeah, so fucking good. I’d push him up against his truck, tongue-fuck him til he starts crying before I finally stick my cock in him.”

Isaac groans loudly and Peter has to clamp down on the base of his cock, wanting to draw this out.

“It’d be tempting to just slam into him until he shoots right across that shiny black truck of his, but a man like that deserves a little more, I think.”

“Yeah?” Isaac asks, his breath coming in pants.

“Mmhm.” Peter slows his hand down, squeezing just below the head, twisting a little as he strokes. “I’d get him in that big back seat, fucking ride that cock like it’s a goddamn rodeo.”

“Oh fuck!” Isaac groans again.

“It’s been so long since I did that, I’d be so fucking tight for him, he’d have to work to get every inch of that meaty cock in my ass.”

“Oh fuck, Peter, fuck, I bet he fucks so good, it’d be so good, wouldn’t it?” Isaac pleads, wanting to hear more, wanting to be in that car, riding the hunter, the tinted windows the only protection from anyone walking by.

“Yeah pup, it would, it’d be so fucking good.”

They both fall silent, the only noises are a chorus of gasps and sighs as they both picture it, each of them imagining Argent on his back fucking deep into them. Peter reaches up to clutch at the roof of his car, his thrusting hips lifting off the seat. He can hear Isaac whining and then a sharp cry as the boy reaches his climax and that sets him off, his own orgasm overwhelming him and he curls over himself, spilling hot over his fist and onto the floor of his car.

When he catches his breath, he reaches over to his phone to end the call.

“Thank you, pup.” He murmurs, the phone tucked against his ear as he zips himself back up.

Isaac snorts.

“Hey, anytime you want to mutually jerk off while I imagine myself getting fucked by someone else, I’m around.”

There’s a muffled sound like thumping on the other end of the line, and then Isaac adds.

“Never mind, Derek says you need to give him advance warning next time so he can clear out.”

* * *

Things start getting a bit strange a couple of months after that first time. Peter stays after a pack meeting to go over some family documents with Derek, and he overhears Isaac trailing after the rest of the pack.

“Guys, wait up!”

They stop, and he joins them, throwing an arm around his alpha.

“So, where are we going?”

Scott smiles, tagging him to the debate of getting milkshakes or bubble tea, but Liam looks at Isaac, confused.

“Aren’t you going to wait for Peter?”

Peter’s ears sharpen at hearing his own name, even from downstairs and outside.

Isaac’s response sounds like a mix of bewilderment and dismay.

“Why would I do that?!”

“Because…because you’re always with him? You’re da—ow!” Liam is cut off by a soft thud, followed by a not at all apologetic Stiles.

“Oops, very sorry, clumsy human!”

Peter tunes out the boys, not all that interested, but it’s weird that Liam has misinterpreted their mingled scents so much. He would think the young beta would be familiar enough with the smell of arousal not to confuse it for something else.

He mentions it to Derek before he leaves.

“You might want to give Liam a refresher on the subtleties of chemosignals, by the by. He seems to be mixing up his sexual emotions.”

Derek gives Peter a flat look.

“Words cannot express how much I don’t actually want an answer, but why?”

“He’s picked up on Isaac and myself,” Peter smirks as Derek’s lip curls in disgust, “but he’s reading more into it than there is.”

Derek’s face is still smooth, but there’s a twitch of a tell in his eyebrow.

“Peter, all the pups think you’re dating Isaac. There are bets going around on which of you will show up with a mating bite first.”

Peter’s mouth falls open.

“Excuse me, what?”

Derek cracks a slight smile at his reaction.

“You always smell like each other, your eyes track each other across the room, and just this evening you bared your teeth when Lydia was telling Mason about when Isaac dated Cora."

He sniffs derisively in response.

“She’s my niece and I love her, I was merely expressing my disapproval of her poor taste in mates.”

“Wow, Peter. You really are channeling the pharaohs, aren’t you?”

Peter’s response is a blank look, and Derek finally shows his teeth in a wide smile.

“You’re a king of denial.”

Peter throws his hands up and leaves, Derek’s chuckles ringing in his ears.

When he gets home, Isaac is somehow already upstairs, leaning against the wall by the elevator, loudly sucking down the dregs of a milkshake.

His eyes are sparkling when he looks up at Peter, and for some reason, it only serves to fan the simmering flame of Peter’s irritation. He grabs Isaac’s arm, hauls him into the living room and pushes him over the back of the sofa.

He’s not gentle, not sweet, he doesn’t give a flaming fuck what _Argent_ would do in this situation anymore. His claws are out as he tugs at Isaac’s jeans, almost shredding them in his effort to get them out of his way.

Isaac is compliant, making no effort to get away, but also not trying to help, and it takes some of the wind out of Peter’s sails. He pauses, leaning over with his forehead resting against Isaac’s shoulder.

“Tell me to stop.” He murmurs into Isaac’s skin.

“No.” Isaac pushes back against him, grinding his ass against Peter’s crotch.

Peter rears up, spinning Isaac around to face him.

“I don’t have it in me to be good tonight, pup. You’re going to look at me, and it’s going to be me you see fucking you. _Tell. Me. To. Stop._”

Isaac curls a hand around Peter’s where it’s cupping his ass, brings it around to the front to cup at his growing bulge. He squeezes their joined hands hard around it.

“_No._"

It’s the most aggressive coupling they’ve ever had, Peter holds nothing back and Isaac takes it all, both of them with claws out and eyes glowing. Peter can barely hear Isaac’s mewls through the heavy sound of his own panting breath, and he is pounding into the younger beta so relentlessly that the sofa under them scrapes across the floor, sending them both down to the ground. It doesn’t stop them, Isaac bent nearly in half, his long legs wrapped around Peter’s waist as Peter continues to hammer into him. Isaac’s cries are high pitched and stuttered, and his ass is a vise around Peter’s cock that squeezes tighter as they both barrel towards completion.

“You’re going to come for me like a good pup, aren’t you?” Peter asks, breathless.

“Yeah, yes, please, fuck, I’m – Peter, Alpha, please, I’m going to – _fuuuuck_.” Isaac’s come shoots across both of their stomachs, and Peter’s lost in a haze of red as his wolf responds to Isaac’s honorific, unable to do anything but chase his own pleasure until he comes with a roar, filling the beta up with his seed.

He falls back on his knees, his cock slipping out of Isaac, his come spilling out of the boy’s ass.

He’s not sure how to go from that to any kind of coherent conversation, but Isaac solves the problem for him.

“Liam thinks we’re actually dating, and afraid to tell anyone.” He says it casually as he swipes at his stomach with his balled up shirt.

“What did you say to that?” Peter asks, trying to sound just as casual, even as his heart is still racing from the workout it just had.

Isaac peers up at him.

“I said he was imagining things, that we were fucking, and that was it, and that even if we were dating, I probably wouldn’t say so but not because I’d be afraid.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I think I’d be embarrassed more than anything. I mean, people would think I liked you. Gross.” He grins as he says it, no real heat in the comment.

“Hmm.” Peter’s heart has finally slowed, but he’s thirsty. He heads into the kitchen, not bothering to put his clothes back on. When he comes back to the living room, he hands a soda can to Isaac.

Isaac accepts it, but looks at it askance.

“Peter, this is grape soda.”

“Yes?”

“You hate grape soda. You say it tastes like bad wine and static.”

“That’s because it does. What’s your point?”

Isaac tilts the soda can, chugging half of it in one gulp.

“My point is,” he pauses to hiccup, “you just walked out of your kitchen, where you presumably keep the groceries you purchase, and handed me a can of my favourite soda.”

Peter looks at him in horror.

“Since when do I know your favourite anything?”

Isaac shrugs.

“No idea. I’m not complaining though, I’m here often enough, it’s only fair that you stock a few things for me.”

“Oh, it is, is it? Shall I set out an extra pillow, as well? Maybe a cup for your toothbrush?”

He’s being snarky, but now that it’s been pointed out, he’s noticing it. Isaac’s left a couple of shirts there, and they now sit neatly folded next to Peter’s own in the dresser. He thinks he may have bought American cheese when he last went shopping, and much like the grape soda, he fucking hates American cheese.

He’s verging on an uncomfortable epiphany, and he doesn’t like it, so he does what he does best and deflects.

“So, Alpha?”

Isaac blushes, the pink highlighting his cheekbones.

“It was a heat of the moment thing.” He mumbles.

Peter knows that isn’t possible. Their wolves don’t lose sight of pack hierarchy, and the chances of a beta, even a young impulsive one, slipping and calling someone Alpha unintentionally like that is next to nil.

It’s possible the younger beta truly does believe it was a heat of the moment thing though, and he sees no reason to try to convince him otherwise. Especially if he might have another chance to hear it. It’s subversive, but he can’t deny that even just recalling the pleading tone Isaac had used is sending residual shocks of pleasure down to his cock, and he can feel it hardening, drawing up to attention.

He can tell when Isaac notices it, can see the boy’s pupils dilate as he responds to Peter’s arousal. He feels relaxed now, less like the needy and greedy he was feeling when he got home, and he’s more than happy to lie back on the couch and jerk off while running his eyes up and down the lithe body in front of him.

Isaac doesn’t like that idea, though, and he slides across the floor on his knees until he is situated between Peter’s legs. He tugs at them, pushing them further apart and pulling until Peter is just at the edge of the seat, and then he tilts them so Peter is leaning back on his elbows. Isaac leans down, maintaining eye contact, and licks at the tip of Peter’s cock, slides his tongue down the shaft, and then keeps going, sucking at Peter’s balls, and then even further, nosing at the crease behind, not using his tongue, but just huffing gently, warm breath caressing the delicate skin. He drags his tongue down one thigh and back up, biting and kissing at Peter’s hips, his stomach. He kneels up, aligning their cocks together and wrapping one large hand around them.

Isaac jerks them off slowly, drawing Peter’s second orgasm out of him like sweet syrup, a steady pulsing stream over his hand. He uses it to lubricate his own cock and stands, aiming for Peter’s chest when he comes with a quiet gasp.

Peter reaches up to smear at the come, rubbing it into his skin, licking the tang of it off his fingers.

“I don’t think you could do this with Christopher,” he muses, “all that chest hair, he’d probably find it entirely unappealing.”

He looks up in time to see a flash of – what, he can’t tell – disappointment, maybe, crossing like a shadow over Isaac’s face. Maybe Isaac no longer wants to be reminded of why he’s even here settling for Peter like some sort of door prize.

This entire evening has been a series of moments that leave Peter feeling oddly off-centre, and he doesn’t like it.

* * *

There is a barbecue at the McCall’s house for Malia’s birthday. Peter can think of an easy dozen things he’d rather do than spend an afternoon exchanging small talk with Henry Tate, but he makes an effort, and Malia nips his ear affectionately as she walks by. He shakes it off, but he can’t help the small swell in his heart at her open acceptance of him. He hates it a little bit, and it makes him want to do something irresponsible if only to prove to himself that he hasn’t become a respectable person while he wasn’t looking.

He scans the yard and spots Isaac sitting at the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water. He’s chatting with Cora, a soda bottle hanging loosely from one hand as he gesticulates wildly. Cora laughs loudly and drops her hand on Isaac’s shoulder. He smiles back, but it’s a dim smile until he catches Peter’s eye. Peter tilts his head towards the backdoor, and Isaac’s smile widens as he murmurs something to Cora before rising up and walking towards the house.

Peter gives it a few minutes before he makes his own excuses and heads inside. It’s quiet but for the muffled thumping of a washing machine, and he can see down the hall to the washroom, the door is ajar and there’s a light on. He pushes the door open and Isaac is slouched on top of the humming machine, his bathing suit pushed down to his ankles.

He has his long fingers wrapped loosely around himself, stroking slowly, in no rush to get anywhere with his pleasure.

“I hope you know the wash cycle won’t entirely drown out the noise we’re about to make.” Peter drawls, stalking towards Isaac, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his shirtsleeves as he moves.

Isaac nods absently, eyes focused on Peter’s forearms. Peter flexes them, and Isaac’s eyes jump to meet his.

The boy’s legs are spread, and he widens them further, allowing Peter to crowd in against him. Peter can see the boy’s pulse quickening in his throat, can hear his heartbeat trip as Peter leans in to lick at his neck. He closes his lips over Isaac’s pulse, scraping gently as he sucks a bruise into the pale skin. It blooms and fades almost immediately, but he does it again, sucking temporary bruises along the long line of Isaac’s neck up to his ear and then down his jawline. Isaac’s breath hitches when Peter’s mouth just barely brushes against his.

In all the weeks they have been doing this, they’ve never kissed, and it’s never bothered Peter, but now he looks at that lush red mouth, those lips from which the prettiest pleas have been known to fall, and he wants to see it swollen from kissing, from the nips and bites that he would lavish on it.

His looks into Isaac’s eyes, glances down at his mouth, back up again to his eyes. Isaac’s eyes are wide, his mouth open slightly, the tip of his tongue peeking out just the tiniest amount, and Peter wants to suck on it. He telegraphs his movements and Isaac does not push him away as he brings his mouth down firmly now to press against Isaac’s. There is no response for the briefest of moments and then there is a pressing back, the younger beta’s lips moving against his, and Isaac’s tongue darts out to swipe at the seam of his lips. He opens them, letting Isaac in as their tongues wind around each other. There is no battle for dominance, once allowed in, Isaac is happy to cede power over to Peter, who takes control of the kiss, taking Isaac’s face in his hands and tilting it so they have a better angle, deepening the kiss.

Isaac brings both hands up to grip at Peter’s shoulders, his cock rubbing against the fabric of Peter’s shirt. They hold each other tightly, kissing like it’s all they want to do, rocking together until Isaac moans into Peter’s mouth and Peter echoes it as he feels Isaac’s cock spurting hot and wet against his stomach.

“Oh, pup.” He murmurs, finally drawing away. Isaac’s mouth is beautiful, his lips a bitten dark cherry red. Peter drags a finger along the boy’s bottom lip and Isaac sucks it into his mouth, eyes focused on Peter’s.

Peter’s shirt is sticky against his skin where Isaac’s come has seeped into the fabric. He draws his hand away from the lush mouth and swipes it through the mess, feeding it back to Isaac and then dipping in to lick it off the boy’s tongue.

His own cock twitches, reminds him that it’s still there, still rock hard and starting to ache. He steps back, fumbling with his belt and unzipping his pants, groaning at the ease of pressure. Isaac stares hungrily at him and Peter stares back as he begins stripping his cock, his eyes poring over Isaac’s lean marble-cut torso, skin reddened, his cock now limp against his thigh, a drop of come still glistening at the tip.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful pup.”

He can feel himself nearing the precipice already. His hand does not stop moving, furiously pumping up and down. He gathers the pre-come dripping out, spreading it over his cock. Isaac’s eyes fall back down to Peter’s forearms and the way the muscles ripple and bunch as he flexes and something inside Peter preens at the way Isaac stares at him with so much desire. It’s a far cry from closed eyes. He is close, so close now, the scent of pre-come thick around them, when Isaac puts a hand over his wrist to stop it moving.

He stills, gripping the base of his cock tightly to stave off the rush, and Isaac hops off of the machine, kneeling in front of Peter. He looks up at Peter, his eyes almost black with blown pupils.

“Come on me.” He whispers, stroking his chest, running a hand over pebbled nipples and down the sparse hair on his stomach.

“Oh sweetheart, I’d fucking love to.”

Peter’s hand is a blur of movement and then he is almost bowled over by the punch of his orgasm, hot splashes hitting Isaac across his chest. Some of it lands in the dip of his collarbone, and he reaches up to rub it into his neck. Peter can’t hold back a throaty growl at that, at seeing his boy rub the older beta’s scent into his skin. He feels a wave of possessiveness washing over him and he wants Isaac to walk out of the room as he is now, nearly naked and smelling of their mating while simultaneously wanting to wrap Isaac up in a towel and keep every inch of skin covered to anyone but himself.

* * *

**SMS from: Pup ** **🍑**

11:46pm: _I might have told Derek about calling you Alpha the other day._

11:47pm: _He was making that judgy face when I got in and I was just trying to make a not my real dad joke and I think it backfired._

11:51pm: _Derek says my wolf wouldn’t have let me call you Alpha if it/me didn’t sort of believe it._

12:01am: _…fuck, we’re dating, aren’t we?_

**SMS to: Pup ** **🍑**

6:45am: _Judging by the horrific contents of my refrigerator these days, yes, pup, I think we might be. Is that so bad?_

**SMS from: Pup ** **🍑**

7:05am: _It’s weird. I still don’t like you very much._

7:09am: _Maybe it’s not dating. Maybe it’s still sex, but we hang out afterwards. Like friends with benefits, but who aren’t friends. Frenemies with benefits._

**SMS to: Pup ** **🍑**

7:15am: _I can work with that._

* * *

For a long while, nothing really changes. They still snipe at each other, they still crash together in fits of pique and ripped clothing, words biting harder than teeth ever could. The only difference is now Isaac has his own key to the penthouse, and when Peter is alone with his cock in his hand, more often than not, the blue eyes he’s picturing aren’t icy, the lips not thin and framed with stubble.

It all comes to a head after a hunt. It’s stupid, Peter’s been shifting and tracking for 30 years and he’s brought down by a single fucking swipe to his side, a lucky strike by a wendigo they’ve been trying to capture for days now. He’s feverish when they find him, only just able to shift from full to beta form, and he’s too out of it to recognize his own blood, roaring and lashing out at Derek when he tries to come closer.

“Peter – goddamnit Peter, I’m trying to – he doesn’t know who I am, Scott, get Isaac. _GET ISAAC._”

Derek yells at his alpha, who jumps to it, phone to his ear as he runs.

Peter is only sort of cognizant of time passing, he’s calmed down enough that he doesn’t see Derek as a threat, but he refuses to let the other wolf any closer than a few yards from him.

They both turn their heads at the sound of rustling, leaves swishing underfoot.

“Derek, what’s going on? What happened?”

The pup is scared, Peter can hear it in his voice. _His pup_. He grumbles, a subvocal growl as he tries to soothe the pup.

“He got swiped, I think it’s just a surface wound but it’s triggered a fever. I have something, a balm that should bring it down, but I don’t know if he’s aware enough to apply it to himself in this state. I can’t do it; he won’t let me get any closer than this.”

He steps closer to Peter to demonstrate, and Peter snarls a warning at the insolence. Derek throws his hands up as if to say “see?” and steps back. Isaac puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder, and Peter’s snarl gets louder.

Isaac yanks his hand away, looking at the shifted beta. The snarl quietens back into the soothing grumble.

“Oh, and that’s just fucking great. He’s going to be so pissed about this when he’s back to normal.”

“Der? What’s with the weird purring?”

“He’s – look, I still have literally zero interest in whatever the two of you have going on, but he’s imprinted on you. His wolf sees you as his mate, and he’s trying to calm you down but also warn me off at the same time.”

“Oh. That’s. Um. Oh.”

Derek tiredly swipes a hand across his face.

“Here’s the stuff for the wound. He’ll let you close enough to apply it. It should work pretty much immediately, and then we can all go back to ignoring how super weird it is that my first beta and my uncle are basically a mated pair.

“Mated…right. Um, right, I’m going to – “ Isaac takes the proffered jar and tiptoes towards Peter.

“Hey, Peter?” His tone is gentle as he approaches the wounded beta.

“Pup.” Peter slurs through a mouthful of fangs. He leans forward, scenting the air. The boy is safe, he is going to help Peter, he can trust the boy. His mouth waters, the boy means something to him, he smells like _mate_ but also _not-mate_, it’s confusing but he’s too feverish to figure out the puzzle.

“Yeah, yeah it’s your pup, I have something that’s going to fix you up, okay? I just need to – “

Isaac reaches out gingerly to pull the shredded remains of Peter’s shirt away from the claw marks on his side and winces at the sight of red inflamed skin. He works quickly to open the jar and scoop out some of the balm. Peter is quiet as Isaac smears it onto the wound and the skin immediately begins to knit itself together, the redness fading as the fever is drawn out.

His teeth and claws retract, his body recognizing the danger is gone and it is safe to emerge from beta shift. Isaac is kneeling next to him and Derek is a few feet away, glowering at a large rock and pretending he isn’t there to witness this incredibly awkward moment.

There is a loud scuffling sound and the remainder of the pack emerges from the trees. Peter watches the range of facial expressions as they pull to a stop and see him there on the ground, both of Isaac’s hands clutching one of his.

Liam looks smug, Kira is smiling wide, Scott is looking either proud or constipated, Peter can’t tell which. Argent is hanging back, crossbow slung over his shoulder. His gaze rakes over Peter, cataloguing his injuries and then his eyes widen as he sees their entwined hands.

The hunter’s face cycles rapidly through a series of emotions. Alarm, surprise, and then ever so briefly, a flicker of what looks almost like regret, before settling on wariness. Isaac’s eyes flicker over to Argent and then back to Peter, and Peter can feel a line between them pulled taut, a line which only Isaac has the power to cut or cross.

Peter doesn’t have the energy to deny what he knows anymore. It may have begun as some sort of mutually assured destruction version of hatesex, but it isn’t that anymore, hasn’t been that for some time now. He can’t remember when either of them last imagined up the specter of Argent while they were together. He no longer closes his eyes when they fuck, wanting instead to memorize every minute twitch of muscle that plays over Isaac’s face when he is overwhelmed with pleasure. And now, thanks to one misplaced wendigo’s claw, Isaac knows his truth, knows how his wolf feels, how he feels.

His side fully healed now; he props himself up into a better seated position. He does it on one hand, reluctant to let go of the grip his other one has on Isaac. He looks back at Argent, whose eyes are focused on Isaac. His jaw is working, but he says nothing.

Peter realizes he’s not the only one, everyone is cautiously quiet, waiting to see who breaks first, who acknowledges the tableau in front of them. He faces the young beta now, bringing their intertwined hands up to his own cheek. He leans in, kisses the palm of Isaac’s hand. There’s nothing left for him to say, it’s on Isaac now.

The young beta is staring right at Peter, his eyes glassy from tears that haven’t fallen. He leans in slowly, brings his cheek to rub against Peter’s. He tilts Peter’s head, rubbing his cheek down the older beta’s neck and across his collarbone. He draws away just long enough to look Peter in the eyes before leaning in again and nipping Peter on the chin and again on the thin skin below his ear. It’s gentle, not a mating bite, but it’s a promise, and the balloon of uncertainty that had been inflating under Peter’s skin slowly dissipates as the very air around them changes to accommodate a new scent, one that blends their two scents together into something that says _claimed_. It’s not as strong as it would be if they were exchanging mating bites, but it’s strong enough that any shifter, regardless of pack status, will know that they are spoken for.

* * *

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Peter still lurks on the stairs during meetings, he still buys grape soda and then complains when it’s the only thing to drink in his fridge. Isaac still lives with Derek, who still grimaces every time one of them give off even the slightest aroma of arousal.

Argent and Melissa McCall come back from a weekend in Nevada with a marriage certificate and matching gold bands. Peter brings it up to Isaac with only the slightest amount of glee when they’re in bed one night.

“You know,” He says, kissing his way up Isaac’s back, hooking his chin over one shoulder to whisper in the boy’s ear. “If Melissa is practically your foster mom, then does that officially makes Christopher your new daddy?”

He gets an elbow in the ribs and a shove out of the bed into a heap on the floor for that comment, but it’s absolutely worth it.


End file.
